


Titanium

by ateverbti



Series: Rootless Tree [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Boyd and Erica are alive because I cannot deal with their death, Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of Arguing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 08:35:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ateverbti/pseuds/ateverbti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite everything they say, Titanium isn’t bulletproof. Titanium alloy is difficult to work with, isn’t corroding, as a carbon it breaks light much better than a diamond. It is durable, opaque, isn’t subjecting to temperature changes as easily as other metals. However, it can bend at a suitable pressure, or even simply break. It’s not indestructible. </p><p>In which Derek gets hurt and Stiles have to deal with it, but not without a word to his alpha and boyfriend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Titanium

**Author's Note:**

> Title was taken from David Guetta's song Titanium. English isn't my first language and my beta couldn't check it, so if there are any mistakes please let me know. I'm sorry in advance for grammar and spelling mistakes. I hope it won't be that bad. Sorry again and enjoy the story. 
> 
> It's fourth part of Rootless Tree series.

Despite everything they say, Titanium isn’t bulletproof. Titanium alloy is difficult to work with, isn’t corroding, as a carbon it breaks light much better than a diamond. It is durable, opaque, isn’t subjecting to temperature changes as easily as other metals. However, it can bend at a suitable pressure, or even simply break. It’s not indestructible. Nothing is, as there are no invincible and immortal people. Everyone has their weak point, as Achilles. You only need to find it, prick it, let it bleed to death. Sometimes you don’t even have to look for it, you just take away the hope. It usually works much better than a bullet put into the middle of the skull.

Blood was soaking into the dusty, gray T-shirt. Flowed between his fingers, when he pressed the wound too hard. It looked weird. Russet. Derek stared fascinated how it couldn’t solidify on his skin, as it usually did. It just flowing and flowing. Never stopping. Such as pain, still flashing, but that’s okay. Pain is good, it means that you’re not dead, that you’re not few meters under the ground, on which wolfsbane grows. Pain is appropriate, it reminds of broken things that needs to be repaired. Even if it’s sometimes unbearable, pain is human. You can even close your eyes for a moment, without fear, because the sharp sting on your skin won’t let you sink into darkness.

“Derek”, he hear a voice above him, he didn’t bother to open his eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here”, he muttered, saving his breath.

“You shouldn’t be here too”, Stiles knelt beside him.

“What about the others?”

“They’re safe”.

Safe. In this cursed town, that once was definition of peace, no one and nothing was no longer safe. If only he didn’t come here that day, life would flowed lazily and slowly here. Derek shook his head, idiotic gesture, with which he tried to shove away the guilt. Fear and regret was crawling under his skin. Stiles couldn’t see this, couldn’t know. He wouldn’t forgive him. Stiles tried so hard to pull him out of the dirt and pain in which Derek was sinking. Boy was holding him so tight, never letting go, no matter what was happening. Even in those moments, when the werewolf just wanted to die, collapse, escape, Stiles just kept him on the surface, as if his life depend on it. Derek had never understand that.

“How long?”, he asked, searching for something in his small backpack.

“What?”

“How long have you been bleeding?” Stiles took out a bandage and some antiseptics.

“Several minutes? Maybe longer, I don’t know. It’s not healing”.

“I see”, he gently pushed away Derek hands, “I will clean it and bandage it”.

“I’ll be fine”.

“If I do this, then yes, you’ll be fine”.

Now alpha could look at his injuries, he didn’t have time to do it earlier, trying to protect Isaac, as Boyd protect Erica. There were four cuts from claws, quite shallow, but still bleeding heavily, not wanting to heal itself. Nothing serious though, but it looked pretty bad. Stiles leaned over him and carefully checked at the cuts. Werewolf for a moment wanted to push him away. The last thing he needed now was a nervous teenager who tried to help him. He could do it better himself, but Stiles didn’t seem to care about a murderous glare that Derek gave him. _You’ve got used to it, Stiles._

There was no other explanation, right? He got used to it. Stiles stopped being afraid, even when Derek shift into his beta form when he fought. At the beginning werewolf listened to teenager’s heart, if it wasn’t beating too fast, if he wasn’t terrified, but eventually he stopped doing this. He couldn’t hear it, couldn’t smell it, not with so many medicines boy took. Stiles’ scent was tainted with chemicals and caffeine, but under it was something more, something that smells like home. Derek hissed softly when boy pressed his fingers into tight skin on his stomach, pulling it a bit. He gritted his teeth, alcohol was perfect disinfectant, but treating wounds by it provided patient with unforgettable experiences of terrible pain. This time teenager wasn’t gentle, he unceremoniously wiped still bleeding scratches, put a dressing on it and pressed is hard that Derek choked back a groan of pain.

“You lied to me”, he heard at the moment when Stiles began to wrap him with a bandage.

“Stiles…”

“I should get used to it, right?” he grabbed Derek arm and pulled him into some kind of hug.

Derek rested his chin in the boy’s shoulder. Soft material of his red hoodie, has never been so rough. He closed his eyes for a moment. He lied to Stiles, he did it and hoped that everything would go smoothly. He hoped Stiles wouldn’t know, and everybody would be happy. At least boy stayed at home, safe. However, Stiles was here now and was wrapping a bandage over Derek. Someone had told him, Derek even suspected who had so little self-preservation instinct to do that. Stiles’ narrow arms now were cold, embrace too strong. Still, teenager was so careful, so focused. Not very gentle, but werewolf wasn’t expecting gentleness. In their strange relationship they did things the hard wat. Maybe in the future, it would change. But not at the moment.

“Give me a break, Derek”, boy pushed him away slowly, and leaned against the wall, “Does it hurt?”

“Yes”.

“I have some herbs who can help with it. I can give you some”.

“I don’t want it”.

“Whatever you say”, he put alcohol into his backpack, “Do you have anything to say before I ask those idiots to carry you into my jeep?”

“No”.

 He wanted to tell Stiles everything. Why he leave him at home and forbade anyone to say that thy were going to established a truce with a pack who occupied the territory, close to his. Everything went bad, as always. Maybe if he took Stiles with him, they would have a glimpse of chance, but Derek selfishly choose to protect him. In a stupid way, but he didn’t know otherwise. Now Stiles was angry with him, there weren’t any doubt about this. He always was, when Derek was injured by his or someone else’s stupidity. It was easy to notice muscle tension in teenagers neck, fingers straightening and bending all the time, when he tried somehow to get rid of the energy in his body. Pursed lips, stiff movements and saddened , angry look. Derek knew all of this, and every time he promised himself that he would never lead Stiles to this.

Moments later, Isaac and Boyd helped him to a jeep. Derek sat on a hard seat in the front. He winced, remembering the first time. He was shot then and wolfsbane slowly seeped into his body. It were few threats then, some of them really serious. He wasn’t sure if that was when he showed Stiles against the wall, or he did it later. Each of their meeting was connected in some strange way with fighting, bruises and blood. Maybe they couldn’t do it any other way, or maybe he couldn’t. Maybe if he didn’t show up in Beacon Hills, Stiles wouldn’t sneak out of the house all of the time, he wouldn’t have to lie to his father and didn’t have to memorize the herbarium and bestiary to help the werewolves. To help him.

Stiles got into the jeep and slammed the door so hard that Derek thought for a moment why they didn’t fall off with a bang. He looked as boy was trying to hit the key into the ignition. Hands were shaking. Suddenly alpha wanted to hide and never come to light. He wasn’t afraid of a teenager, because why would he? Stiles was a skinny kid, who couldn’t even hit him hard in the face without hurting himself. No, it wasn’t fear. It was shame. Derek just wanted to apologize, but when he looked into Stiles’ eyes, he turned his head away. It was easier to argue, to be silent, to threaten him, than to admit a weakness.

“Are you proud of yourself?”, Stiles hissed through clenched teeth.

***

„Are you?!”, he slammed his fist on the steering wheel.

Derek looked at him in surprise. It was as if it was their first fight ever. Stiles was so angry, trying to contain everything and then he just broke and scream so long that he ran out of air. This enraged him more. Blood was buzzing in his veins, a sudden rush of adrenaline completely depriving him of any self-preservation. Stiles knew that fights with a werewolf were pointless. They mostly ended with insults and sometimes with bruises. Sometimes they wouldn’t talk for weeks after. It never was nice, cultural or civilized. This time, however, Stiles didn’t want to remember, he didn’t want to listen to the small voice in his head, that Derek was alive and safe, and everything will be just fine. His fingers tightened on the dark plastic so much that his knuckles went white.

“Why didn’t you tell me?! I’d go with you! Maybe you wouldn’t try to kill themselves, as usual!”, he wanted to hit Derek, wipe his scowl which resembled a crooked smile.

He was never good at it. To not worry. Since he remembered there was always something, someone who he cared about. First, his father, who after the death of Stiles’ mother tried to keep up somehow, but every day it was getting worse. Father, who sometimes drank too much of Jack Daniels and fell asleep with a couch. Father, who sacrificed everything for him, and Stiles was more than willing to repay it. Make him safe and happy. Then there was Scott, best friend, brother, with whom he always got into trouble. Scott, who become a werewolf because of Stiles’ stupid ideas. And Derek. His alpha, who could never admit that he need help or someone who just would take care of him. Scary and brooding werewolf who lived among the ruins of the burnt house, in a place full of nightmares and painful memories. Alpha who cared more about others safety than about his own. About Erica’s and Boyd’s, Isaac’s, Lydia’s, Scott’s and even Allison’s. And Stiles. Derek, who would do anything for others and nothing for himself, and still in such way that no one would ever knew he really HAD a heart. _Fucking Tinman._

“Well, are you going to say anything?”

“For what?”, he muttered , “You yell for the two of us”.

Derek probably wasn’t thinking, when he decided to be sarcastic right now. He didn’t have the organ that would ensure his thinking, breathing and everything else at the same time. He probably realized what he said, because he just looked at Stiles, glare that was promising tearing his throat or something equally painful. If only he decided to listen, but he didn’t and blood flowed quicker again. Derek Hale just crossed the thin line, where stand angry, worried teenager, who apparently tried not to shoot him. With ammo with wolfsbane or silver, or with wolfsbane and silver. For a moment Stiles wondered if he could use the old gun, his father gave him when he was younger. He knew that ordinary ammo wouldn’t hurt Derek now, maybe just slow down healing process a bit. Maybe, Derek would stop talking. Yes, Stiles Stilinski wanted Derek Hale, the alpha, to shut up, because every next word would lead to disaster.

It was getting harder to catch a full breath, and his fingers clenched themselves. Alpha was an idiot, moron who never understood anything. He didn’t even try to understand. Stiles tried, really tried. He succeeded for most of times, namely he didn’t kill Derek in his sleep and didn’t make leather upholstery on the seat from his skin, which was sometimes very tempting thought. Especially if the werewolf acted recklessly, and calling himself responsible adult. Stiles always bandaged his wounds, although some were healing faster than he could even cleaned it. He cooked for Derek, for the whole pack. He even dealt with calling him a mother hen. He felt asleep, next to Derek, nestled him in his narrow arms and wake up in the night, when alpha was having nightmares again. He would work all night, researching, translating old books with Lydia. He took care of them, with Derek. He was silent when alpha told him to be quiet, he was talking when he saw that Derek needs a distraction. For God’s sake, he let Derek do anything, in return getting some sarcastic comment. Sometimes he really had a feeling that he should sit in the corner and rethink his life choices. He hit the gas pedal and moved forward.

If not for the werewolves his life would be simples, predictable and calmer. He wouldn’t have to count scars on his skin, massaging sore places. He wouldn’t seek further bruises and wonder on how quickly heals the bone of his forearm or fingers. There wouldn’t be so much blood, nightmares, fear and this strange feeling, somewhere at the back of his skull, that it’s fine that way. Just as it should be. There wasn’t. Not when every attempt to make it better just ended up making it worse. When he was arguing with his alpha. If not for this supernatural disaster, Jackson, damn Jackson would now fight with a sense of guilt, which would never should belong to him from the beginning. Scott wouldn’t be so hard on himself and struggle with Argents about Allison. Stiles himself wouldn’t see burning Peter, every time he closed his eyes. Maybe it would be better. But Isaac could be dead, finally killed by his father, at one night in a dark basement. Erica would not survive another attack, and Boyd would never understand what it means to care about someone, to belong somewhere. If not for Derek, everything would be easier, but he wasn’t sure if better.

The road to Derek’s apartment passed in silence. He didn’t know what to say to his alpha, what to do to make him finally trusted Stiles. Just like the other night, when he came under the red oak tree and allowed Derek to do anything he wanted. He didn’t ask for anything. Just hugged him and stayed with him. That was a year ago, _just a year,_ he shook his head, parking at the sidewalk. Since then, so many thing have changed, while not changing anything at all. They still were in constant danger, and alpha didn’t trust him fully. For a year he had almost died three times, which was a good result. Derek beat the record of course. Twelve times. Stiles remember every single moment in which Hale put his life on the line just to prove himself, to protect them. Each time, Stiles fall apart to see him like this. He should leave him, get away, but he couldn’t imagine even a second without his pack, without his alpha. So he fall each time, and got up again. Metaphorically bending his neck when it was needed, but always keeping his knees straight. Once he read in some stupid book, about living a good life, that he need to be like a reed. When bad times come, bend to the ground, and after them stand straight again.

He helped his alpha out of the car, not listening to weak protests that Derek muttered under his breath. Werewolf was paler than usual, tired and he probably didn’t have strength for sarcastic comments and the next fight between them. Stiles sighed quietly, while opening the door to the apartment, Derek was hanging on his shoulder, leaning on him. There was no point to argue now, maybe there never was. Although he knew that they will always jump at each other’s throats. Stiles couldn’t let go certain things, Derek didn’t try to understand.

***

The cold air came in through the open window, when they went to the bedroom. Derek’s fingers tightened harder on Stiles’ hip, as if he tried to say something that way. The boy nodded and helped alpha lie on the bed. He sat on the edge after a moment, not sure what to do next. Werewolf probably didn’t know either. Derek turned his head looking at something at the wall, but held out his hand toward Stiles, carefully, as if afraid he would reject him.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”, he asked quietly tangling their fingers together.

“Because you’d go with me”, Derek said, still not looking at him.

“That’s the point. Me, going with you, in case something’s happening”, rage was drifting slowly out of him, its’ small, thin threads tangle here and there.

“I’m a werewolf, I’ll heal”, _you won’t_  was the unspoken part, although Stiles heard this all too clearly in his head.

“You’re an idiot”, he squeezed his hand. “You’re my alpha and an idiot. I don’t know why I’m still here. With someone who doesn’t trust me”.

Derek suddenly stiffened, pursed his lips in a thin line, Stiles just realized what he said. Werewolf relaxed his hand and moved away from human, ignoring the pain. Stiles closed his eyes, counting to ten. What was between them couldn’t be healthy and normal, but he couldn’t have it any other way. They couldn’t. He breathed deeply.

“You know that’s not what I meant. Not what I thought”, he groaned. “Which proves that you’re an idiot”.

“What does that say about you?” , Derek was still within reach, but not with him.

“Mediocre, but I can handle it”, he shook his head. “You’re hurt, you won’t heal as quickly as you want to. The wounds inflicted by an alpha”, he added seeing that Derek is surprised. “I know whole bestiary, do you think I’d forgot about it?” When werewolf didn’t answer, he began to speak again, “Don’t do this anymore. Never again. Just never, because personally I’ll put a bullet into your head. You know I will. Because it cannot be that way. It won’t be”, he said with emphasis, “that you’re doing what you want and leaving me behind. I’m human, I won’t heal in five seconds, but you need me next to you. Need my plans and my knowledge, Derek. Not sitting at home like fifteen year old girl. I have ADHD, I’m annoying, I know. But I’m useful and if you leave me again, I promise, you’ll regret it”.

“I know”.

“Will you do it again?”

“Probably yes”, _to protect you,_ another unspoken sentence that Stiles knew by heart, although he didn’t want to hear it now.

“I can help you, if you let me. Hell, even if you won’t I will do it”, he raised his voice, clutching the sheets.

“Stiles…”, Derek muttered tiredly.

“What?”

“Stay.”

Boy shook his head but he lay down next to the alpha, clung to him, trying not to touch his wounds. Derek put his arm around him without a word and kissed him gently on the forehead. Moments later they fell asleep. Two breaths and two beating hearts, that will never be able to sound the same, but fit together like two puzzle pieces.

Titanium isn’t indestructible, you can bend it, it can melt or corrode over time. You can break it with a bullet, fired from a suitable caliber. You can crush it, turn it to dust. Titanium is just extremely resilient an strong metal. Stiles and Derek aren’t made of titanium and they never will be. They’re mortal, destructible, weak in comparison with the perfect design. Their relationship is a house of cards, which is holding up remarkably well, despite the strong winds at night. It is a castle of sand, built on the glass, which can easily crush. Their relationship is a moment in eternity, clasped hands, quiet kisses, which sometimes hurt more than broken bones. This lack of trust, the eternal pursuit, a constant struggle. It’s quiet at night, when only two breaths are heard. It’s alpha’s triskele between shoulder blades, and another box of Adderall that Stiles will throw into the trash when he empty it. They’re not like titanium. They don’t try to be. They are, side by side, together.

Derek Hale and Stiles Stilinski are just dust than can be easily blown away. Sometimes, however dust can be more durable than titanium. Something, that is everywhere, cannot be destroyed. Something, that is in every breath and bitter word. In every kiss and touch. In blood seeping from wounds, and mute assurances.

It cannot be destroyed.

**It cannot.**


End file.
